Liquid Courage
by Astrantia
Summary: There are seven drinks that she can all, in some way, connect to him. SheppardWeir.


**Title: **Liquid Courage

**Pairing: **Sheppard/Weir

**A/N: **Idea came quite suddenly to me several days ago. Inspired by a scene in some television show in which a character offers another a drink. Weird, I know.

* * *

**Liquid Courage**

* * *

Coffee.

It was- and always had been- her favourite drink. The many sweet aromas captivated her as a child; as an adult, she valued its use as a stimulant and because it had strengthened her friendship with John.

She had worked late one night, blinking tiredly at her computer screen and cursing the chilly air that stung her skin. He made a very welcome appearance, bearing a mug of hot coffee and a quietly concerned smile that caused her to briefly lose her composure.

Every night that she worked past what one would consider a sensible time to retire, he would be there without fail: a cheerful grin, a mug and easy conversation all ready for her.

She loved him for his benevolence towards her and hated herself for so earnestly looking forward to each visit.

**x . o . x . o . x . o . x**

Tea.

The Athosian version of it was always bitter and thin; it didn't taste good with sugar and milk and it didn't taste good without it. She often wondered how those who liked it could possibly drink it without spitting the lot out. She supposed it was the gentle persuasion in Teyla's smile as she attempted to convert people to the less unhealthy beverage that did it.

When John's team went missing, presumed dead, she took a cup of it to her balcony. It didn't feel right drinking coffee at that time, because it was too strong a reminder of him and she thought it would be apt to finally give in to Teyla's frequent requests for her to try it.

She hoped she would get the chance to tell Teyla she had drunk it.

She didn't like it, though.

When the 'gate became active and she was informed that it was _them_, she dropped the mug. It shattered immediately, but she ignored it.

She never drank tea again.

**x . o . x . o . x . o . x**

Water.

She had hurled a glass of it at John when he strode into her office with the same charming smile and casual attitude. He acted as though he hadn't just directly disobeyed her orders to return to the city and nearly died, taking his team with him.

She wanted to wipe that look off his face, and a glass of water had been most effective. She was half-glad it hadn't been coffee; truth was, water was easier and faster to get than coffee and that was the only reason she had it with her.

The angry words burning at the tip of her tongue disappeared when she saw him dripping miserably. Admonitions became laughter and frowns morphed into their opposites.

They spent two hours afterwards drying the folders that had been soaked, in the sun. She forced herself to believe it wasn't just an excuse to simply spend time with him.

**x . o . x . o . x . o . x**

Lemonade.

Soft drink was rare in the city, as such a limited supply made its way to them from Earth. Somehow, he had procured a bottle and convinced her to join him, the lemonade and a heavy bowl of popcorn in the media room.

They watched two films in a row, both action flicks. She wasn't a huge fan of them, but it was a good opportunity to let her mind be attacked by something other than work and she managed to sneak in a couple of minute's shut-eye.

She thought it was a couple of minutes, anyway. When she woke, she found a blanket draped over her and John stretched out on the floor, asleep. The credits of the second movie were rolling and light played eerily on his face.

She put her blanket over him and tried not to watch him as she curled back up on the couch.

**x . o . x . o . x . o . x**

Fruit juice.

She used to enjoy a cup of fresh, cold juice when she was much younger, especially during a memorable phase in which she had been an obsessive health nut. She'd given it up in favour of coffee, but she was reminded of her love for it when some of the personnel endeavoured to squeeze juice from a new load of fruit in from the mainland. The fruit was much too dry for it though, and they turned away from the task with disappointment.

John came back from a mission later with a smug grin on his face: he and his team had been able to trade for several bags of plump orange-like fruits. He roped in a group to help him with the juicing and was able to happily present her with a glass of the result.

It was tangy and sweet and she appreciated their effort. He loved the stuff and for a week, he drank only the juice.

It turned out that too much of it wasn't good and he was in the infirmary for two days. She visited him as often as she could.

**x . o . x . o . x . o . x**

Alcohol.

Illegally traded for at every opportunity off world, the city was soon full of the refreshment. A celebration one night, which she never managed to find out the cause for, saw nearly every bottle of alcohol being taken out and shared.

She flitted from group to group, easily sliding into each conversation. It became tiring, and she made a graceful exit. An obviously drinking John accosted her on her way to her room.

Their first kiss that wasn't influenced by other entities was rough and messy and everything she hated. She regretted not resisting earlier and pulled back. He apologised, over and over again, and she responded by gently pressing a kiss to his lips. Their second was much more satisfactory.

She liked control too much to lose it and they parted.

**x . o . x . o . x . o . x**

Hot chocolate.

She would sometimes substitute coffee for it, whenever she could. Once, quite suddenly, snow began falling thickly over the city and she found a place by a window to watch it. Hot chocolate warmed her hands and sent her back to times when all she ever wanted was to sit all day and watch snow drift down in spirals. She never imagined there being a scene as magical as what was before her then.

He joined her and for a third of an hour, they sat in contented silence. It was a tranquil time; she pondered whether she could ever spend such a period in the same manner with anyone else.

That moment, that day, she realised something she hadn't before.

**x . o . x . o . x . o . x**

Coffee.

It was- and always had been- her favourite drink. The many sweet aromas captivated her as a child; as an adult, she valued it for its use as a stimulant and because it had brought her and John closer together.

Every morning, she woke up to a framed photo of everyone she adored and a bed that was missing another person. He would return as she emerged from the bathroom, ready for another day. He always came bearing a smile, a mug of hot coffee and a kiss destined for her lips.

They would share the drink and spend ten minutes as wife and husband before leaving their room as Elizabeth Weir and John Sheppard.


End file.
